Listen to the Wind
by DocJorgensen
Summary: Years after the Second War with Voldemort, as a Charms Apprentice to Filius Flitwick, Harry has to deal with the effects of the War on himself and on those he loves.
1. How Clear, How Lovely Bright

** Listen to the Wind**

** By K. Jorgensen**

**Category:** Friendship, Drama, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Romance  
**Characters: **Harry, Filius

**Ships: **Harry/Ginny, Ron/Hermoine

**Rating:** K+  
**Spoilers:** AU after Fifth book.  
**Summary: **Years after the war, as a Charms Apprentice to Filius Flitwick, Harry finally has to deal with the effects of the war on himself and the people he loves.

**DISCLAIMER:** Lady Muse commands me and I obey, but I, alas, own nothing.  
**Author Notes:** This is my first serious attempt at a Harry Potter fanfic, and I know that it's probably mediocre. At any rate, I wanted to try and my muse cooperated, so here we go. I've always loved Harry being mentored, but I'm not good at McGonagall, and Snape and Dumbledore are both overdone so I thought I'd try an unusual character. Enter Filius. Title based off of Lucy Dalton's song. Also, I know Flitwick is supposed to be really short but that would make things difficult, so imagine he's about five feet or so.

_**Dedication: **__To S. Mathes. Thanks for the snarky remarks and the friendship. _

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"How Clear, How Lovely Bright"

**...Listen to the wind**

**And the driving Rain**

**Listen close**

**And you'll hear 'em saying**

**That what goes 'round,**

**Will come around again.**

**Listen to the wind....**

The leaves had turned gold and crimson, with flecks and patches of green and a low undertone of brown. The sun was still warm despite the brisk wind.

Harry shrugged on a jacket against the cutting cold, a quilted overcoat with tan leather collar and cuffs. He shoved his hands into the pockets of his gray slacks.

The leaves hung over him in arches, with walls of tall oaks and robust maples, leaves rustling with his every step.

He breathed in, releasing it in a slow gasp. The little clearing was tranquil in the early hours of the morning, with grey skies and white mist that swirled about the trunks of trees.

But still Harry's forehead creased with lines, his eyes faded to a dull green with fatigue.

Fall hung still and quiet – Harry a motionless observer.

He had become a tall, thin man who looked down at the leaves, utterly resigned, black head cocked slightly to the side, broad shoulders hunched, bunching his jacket up into clumps.

Just watching the sun rise, with ripples of red and petals of pink, and listening to the faint voice of the wind through the trees.

Filius woke slowly, rejoicing in the comfortable warmth and peace that came with sleep. He listened for an instant – just the sound of wind against the shutters, and eyed his burgundy bedspread, ruminating about rousing himself.

In no great hurry, he leisurely arose, donning his dark blue dressing gown as he ambled out of his bedroom, shutting the dark wood door behind him.

The door to Harry's room was ajar, and Filius sighed, tucking one hand into his pocket. He scowled, the sight unusual on the jovial wizard. Harry hadn't told him that he was having nightmares again.

The oak floor of the kitchen was chilly, even through his slippers and Filius cast a quick warming charm, as he tapped the full kettle with his wand. The ward for temperature control would be have to redone soon he decided, if the cold was managing to seep so well through the walls.

Steam came pouring out of the kettle in great clumps as he heaved it up, filling the teapot with the scalding liquid. As it steeped he mused rather leisurely, about the benefits of retirement.

Fewer children, although to be honest, Harry was just a large child, as well as more sleep, fewer hours and best of all, peace and quiet. Filius absentmindedly tucked his wand into his sleeve, as he poured the tea.

Two cups. Harry liked cream and sugar, while he added only a dash of cream to his, a single white spot in the dark tea.

Taking a hold of each patterned saucer, Filius walked through the sitting room as he proceeded out onto the front porch of his house.

Blowing the steam off of his cup as he leaned against the wooden bench, Filius scanned the splendid plumage of the forest with curiosity, and not the slightest tinge of anxiety.

Worry could come later at noontime when Harry still had yet to return. Though, he ruminated, sipping gingerly at the hot liquid, it wasn't as if he had done that frequently. Just once or twice.

Fishing his wand out again with one hand, the teacup and saucer awkwardly cradled in his left, he cast another warming charm. The weather was getting to be rather cold outside.

He bided his time, watching the way the sun rose orange, with fringes of pink and light undertones of lavender. The chilled air stung his nose, and he could feel the sharp breezes through his dressing gown.

Harry's teacup sat beside him on the bench as he waited. The wind blew his white hair into wisps, and sent steam billowing from both tea cups. He tapped his fingers on the wooden bench to the sound of the William Tell Overture sounding in his memories to pass the time.

Slightly chilled, but not wanting to go inside without Harry, Filius sighed with relief as he saw Harry emerge from the forest, long dark hair blowing in the wind, his features looking troubled and his mouth in a scowl.

The distance between the great forest and Filius' cottage wasn't very large, a scant few hundred yards, and within three minutes Harry stood on the porch.

"Good Morning, Harry."

"Morning, Professor." Harry said rather reservedly and Filius felt that fond chiding feeling come over him, and resisting the urge to shake his head, he handed Harry his teacup.

Harry wrapped his fingers, red with cold around the warm cup, the faint appearance of dark stubble crusting his cheeks. He half reclined on the dark, Filius companionably sitting beside him, listening to the sounds of birds chirping and the glorious sights of fall.

They stayed that way for some time as the light mist rose, even though both of their tea cups were empty.

Clad only in his dressing gown, and growing rather stiff with cold, Filius' slight build shook with chill. Ever solicitous Harry startled, and picking up the two teacups, gently herded Filius through the door.

Hustling him to an armchair, he handed Filius a blanket he had conjured from somewhere and in some seconds short of a minute, had a warm mug tucked into Filius' hands.

"Thank you very much, Harry. But I think I'll be quite alright now." He said, wincing at the guilt-stricken look on Harry's face. His apprentice was so careful nowadays. So very careful.

"Are you sure, Filius?" He chuckled with amused annoyance, now Harry would call him by his given name! But no matter.

"Yes, I rather think so. – But I do think that it's getting a bit cold for your sojourns into the forest." He called out to Harry who was hanging up his jacket.

"Yes, well I don't think I can give them up…. Besides I had a proper jacket and you didn't." Harry's voice had an oddly pleading note in it and Filius shifted in the chair.

"You sound like Minerva, Harry." Filius grumbled, albeit good naturedly.

"Funny. I thought rather like Hermoine actually."

"They are eerily similar aren't they? You should have heard Minerva when she was still a student. Practically gushed over her, she did."

"The thought of Professor McGonagall gushing over anyone is a bit startling." Harry retorted, taking some eggs out of the refrigerator and waving his wand at the loaf of bread on the counter.

"I'd best not mention how she pleased she was with you then." Filius raised an eyebrow. Harry said nothing, obviously embarrassed. He never had taken to praise well. "You haven't seen Hermoine recently, have you?"

"No. I thought I'd floo over and see her soon. Her letter said that she wanted me to see something that she was working on." Cracking a smile, Harry said self-deprecatingly "I probably won't be able to understand it anyway, so I don't really see the point, but Hermoine wants me to, so I will."

"Don't be ridiculous, Harry. Remember I've seen what you can do." Filius nodded enthusiastically.

"Maybe with Charms, Filius. But competing with Hermoine at Transfiguration? No sir." Harry replied, shaking his head

"Minerva seemed to think that you had just as much talent as your father, if not more." Filius said, watching the bread fall onto the cutting board.

"She was soft on my Dad. Besides, now that he's gone, people think better of him." Harry said, rather sadly, in the way only an orphan could.

"I wouldn't say that's true, Harry. Besides, Minerva is most perceptive."

"Probably why Hermoine jumped at a Mastery with her." Harry hedged, his face a puzzle of confusion and deep thought as he filled a saucepan with water. "Though the Transfiguration bit just added to the attraction, I suppose." Harry called from the pantry, coming out holding two jars of preserves. "Hmm... Filius, what do you think, raspberry or apple-pear?"

"I should think you live to spoil me, Harry. Raspberry, though." Filius said rather cheerily, scrunching his nose up in concentration as he waved his hand in the direction of the still steaming teapot, wandlessly _accio_-ing it.

Gently settling it down on the tabletop, he poured himself another cup of tea, adding a dash of cream.

"I thought that was what slaves - I meant apprentices were supposed to do." Harry was making toast as the eggs boiled, and no doubt soon he would have bacon frying.

"I am _not_ Severus." Filius said very seriously, taking as sip from his cup, nearly spitting it out at the look on Harry's face.

"Merlin's beard, I hope not." Harry snorted, as Filius laughed heartily. "What's so funny?" He added nearly grumpily.

"The thought -- of you and -- Severus, living together as Master and Apprentice!"

"I thought that was what Professor Dumbledore was for, so I could get a Potions Mastery without Snape."

"Very true." Flitwick acknowledged, as a dish with a bowl of soft-boiled eggs and toast complete with bacon materialized in front of him. He took a bite. "Have I ever said that your cooking skills are delectable, Harry?"

"Yes, and not infrequently, to be honest."

"Well, to continue that other train of thought, Harry, I personally think that we'd have to celebrate your funeral first, not Severus'." Filius mopped up some yolk with his raspberry preserved toast, nodding as the mail owl came in. "Here's the owl with the post." Holding up a slice of bacon, the tawny owl took it with a hoot, as Filius unloosened the few letters and Daily Prophet from its leg.

"Thanks." Harry said, taking the Prophet from Filius and setting it beside his place. "Don't you have more faith in me that that, Filius? I'm sure that I would be able to outlast Snape." Harry pouted, sliding onto the oak chair opposite as he waved his wand. Immediately the dishes began to clean themselves in the sink.

"More tea, Harry?" Filius offered, one hand around the handle of the teapot. "At any rate, Severus did manage to spy successfully on Voldemort for almost a decade. No mean feat that." He stared rather intently, almost pensively at a slice of toast.

"Hmm, yes please." Harry held out his cup, then adding cream and sugar. Stirring his tea, he continued, "Still, I've survived several tête à tête encounters with 'flees from death' before. Surely that counts in my favor?" Harry joked, rather flippantly.

"Yes, and we all know what happened at the final battle." Foolish! Filius cursed under his breath at his faux pas as Harry's face fell, and things had been going so _well_ this morning. Harry flipped through the Prophet, the awkward silence grew and stayed on in the kitchen, as he mumbled bits of articles to himself.

Filius shoved his plate away as he took a new glance at his apprentice. Well, to be fair, Harry was almost a Charms Master in his own right. Dark circles pooled under his green eyes, somber and weary. Too little sleep, and probably too much work about Ginny. He sighed, playing with the tea cup. Ginny. What a tragedy.

"Hmm." Harry murmured, toast held idly in one hand, "seems Professor Dumbledore is retiring as Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot and the Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards." He seemed taken aback, and spun the paper so the article faced Filius.

"I'm not surprised" Filius said candidly, "He mentioned it to me once or twice of late about retiring to his villa."

"But – he's Dumbledore. He can't just retire!" Harry sputtered, waving his slice of toast, rather dramatically.

"Why ever not?" Filius said sensibly. "I did. And as near as I can discern, Albus is substantially older than I am."

"No offense meant, Filius, but you weren't Grand Sorcerer, Headmaster of Hogwarts, Supreme Mugwump, Chief Warlock, the list goes on and on. He's done more in his lifetime that I could hope to do in three." Harry sounded more like the twenty something that he actually was, instead of a cynical battle-hardened warrior.

"All the more reason for Albus to retire," Filius stated mildly but with some force. "He's done enough, Harry, time to let someone else shoulder the burdens of the Wizarding World. Let an old man have some peace."

"I suppose that's true," Harry said, lifting his and Filius' plates, sliding them into the sink and waving his wand absently.

"Don't worry, Harry. I'm sure the Wizarding World won't hesitate to call upon you for any problems now that Albus is gone." He said slyly, heading out of the door, hand pressed on the door knob.

"Filius!" Harry growled, throwing an annoyed glance towards the door, only to see his irritating mentor had already vanished. "Great. Now I get the lauded position of Advisor to the Ministry, the bunch of idiots that they are. Can't I just let Draco do it? He bribes them enough, surely." He asked the oak cabinetry, shaking his head.

He double-checked to make sure the kitchen was clean, before shutting the honey oak door behind him. He headed to his rooms, the heels of his boots sounding sharply on the polished wooden floors, one hand gently tracing the enchanted ivy growing on the wall.

The other hand tucked into his pocket, navy blue dress shirt rumpled where he had rolled up the sleeves to make breakfast. He leaned against his door frame heavily for an instant, before jerking his head up, and almost furtively, slipped into his rooms, without a sound.


	2. How Beautiful to Sight

Title: Listen to the Wind

Chapter: How Beautiful to Sight

A/N: I don't really like the end of this chapter, but you guys deserved an update, so enjoy. –K.

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Filius entered his study, lined with leather books and dark wooden bookshelves, sunny with light of midmorning through the windows. His dark grey robes, embroidered in silver thread with Celtic knots, just brushed the polished wooden floors, and flowed in between the couch and armchairs.

Harry lay, sprawled in the high-backed armchair by the window, light streaming across his dark hair, and onto his forest green robes, making them glow like emeralds. He rested his newly shaved chin on his hand, tapping at the arm chair with his long fingers.

"You look so like your mother in green." Filius said, smiling slightly as he dwelt in nostalgia. His mind flashed back for an instant.

_Lily, her slim form already showing decidedly pregnant, feet tucked up into the arm of the chair, reading __A Practice of Dissecting Charms__by Edward Anthony with such studious intentness. _

"_Why Filius, I didn't expect you!" Filius fondly smiled then, at her warmth and her obvious joy at seeing him._

"_I had no detentions after the feast, my dear, so I escaped early from the castle. Minerva offered to chaperone my Ravenclaws to the Express, so I could return. She sends her regards, by the way." She got up and out of the chair, placing the heavy book with a thump on the wooden side table, bent down slightly, given him a hug, and he kissed her cheek. Lily smelled of cooking spice as she always did, cinnamon and sharp ginger, and the leather and pages of fine books. _

"_A cup of tea, Filius? I just put the kettle onto boil. "_

"_Yes, please. Already the castle has several feet of snow, and I'm bone weary. Tea would be lovely." He was tired, the tensions always increased just before the Christmas break. And Voldemort had begun to make more regular attacks. _

_It was also just Filius' luck that the winter this year was shaping up to be particularly harsh, and he had always been susceptible to cold, he thought, as he collapsed into an armchair before the roaring fire, one hand gently massaging the thigh of his leg, as he stretched it out the warmth, eagle topped cane leaning against the chair. A minute or two later, Lily was back with the tea._

"_I heard about the skirmish." She said scrutinizing him, her gaze lingering on the cane for an instant. "You are feeling better, I trust?" She queried gently, pouring him tea, and tucking one of those shortbread biscuits that he loved into the saucer._

"_Yes, I'm quite fine, Lily – though my leg is sore on occasion." Filius had admitted, stirring his tea, and feeling saddened by the distressed expression on Lily's face. "But it is getting much better." He quickly added. Truly it was. For several days after the battle he had been unable to walk. The severing curse, as he had been repeatedly told by Poppy, had almost completely removed his leg. _

"_You cannot expect to duel with Voldemort, Filius, and get off lightly." Lily chided, her emerald eyes frightened. Feeling rather as thought he didn't want to talk about such things, dreary and dreadful things in the warmth and comfort of this evening, Filius changed the subject promptly._

"_How is the work on your Mastery thesis going?" She shrugged, almost sheepishly, looking down at her saucer, and said;_

"_I know that has already been done before, but I think that I'm going to concentrate on what effects a charm," Her voice became passionate, and she set her teacup down, before animatedly motioning with her hands. And her eyes, alas! Her eyes were alive, in only the way Lily could be alive. "The motions, the words, what? Tell me, Filius—"_

Filius blinked, silently. What a waste of talent and youth with Lily's death. She had had more innate knowledge of Charms than anyone he had taught, and perhaps even more than he himself had. Their master-apprentice ship had gone through Lily's pregnancy, his teaching at Hogwarts, and through the darkest waves of Voldemort's reign of terror.

And now, he taught her son. Time had come full circle.

"…Filius?" Harry asked, anxiously, leaning forward in the chair.

"Oh, I beg your pardon Harry. What was it that you were saying?"

"I've decided on my thesis for mastery." Harry said, rather jubilantly.

"Really Harry? Wonderful!" Filius clapped his hands in excitement. "What are you going to do? Perhaps a detailed description and explication of the wards at Hogwarts? You've always had an interest in those."

"Guilty pleasure, Filius." Harry replied, green eyes dancing as his mouth etched into a wide smile, remembering the tingling feeling, the pleasure involved with dealing with the wards at Hogwarts. "They just feel so alive and vibrant, but ancient at the same time." Hundreds of different magics entwined together over thousands of years made the wards nigh unbreakable but also incredibly stimulating also. "No, I've decided that I'm going to really focus on what makes a charm a charm."

"Oh?" Filius felt something tighten a little in his chest.

"Yes. You see, there are the words of course, but why Latin? Your magic but what about your intent, and your will? Could I make a Patronus charm, for example, be capable of offense if I changed my intent? Think about the possibilities, Filius!" Harry cried, sitting up straight and talking quite quickly in his excitement.

"So what you are really getting down to is-?" Filius queried, his excitement dropping to the bottom of his stomach, and rolling itself into knots.

"What affects a charm, makes it act the way it does! I want to know not the what, not the where but the why! What really makes a charm a charm." Harry said, pacing the study in his passion, fingers motioning everywhere. Filius sat for a minute, dumbfounded. He swallowed thickly and Harry began to eye him nervously. What on earth was wrong with Filius, surely he should be excited? In fact, it was difficult for him not to be genial, so what was the matter?

"Is there…Is there something wrong with that? I can change it, Filius." Harry said slowly, his brow wrinkled in confusion.

"No, Harry. No need, my boy. Just—" Filius wanted to weep, and to sing with joy at the same time. His limbs felt heavy, sluggish, as he shuffled to his desk, unlocked the top right draw, and rattled it loosely open. He gathered up the parchment that had lain in this tomb for almost three decades. Filius' fingers gently caressed the parchment absently as he held it in his hands, one thumb smoothing over the curvy, beautiful writing on the topmost sheet. _Lily Potter_ it read. Filius didn't need to look down and read it; he knew all of the words by heart.

The edges crinkled, somewhat yellowed and brittle with age. He hadn't looked at this in over twenty years, and yet – still he could feel the grief of Lily's death. "Forgive me, Harry. I kept this, perhaps selfishly, so that I might have something—" Anything, he wanted to cry. Lily had been as a daughter to him, and a better one he could not have had, or wished for. "—to remember your mother by. But I give to you now, Harry, so that you might finish what your mother started." He handed the parchments to Harry, who took them fervently, and in a display of formal etiquette he almost never showed, bowed deeply.

Sentimental, his logical mind screamed at him, you sentimental old fool. But his reason could remember just as well the odd little way Lily had quirked her head when she had a question, the way she worked at her wand with her thumb when she was frustrated, the way her eyes were when she was angry. Filius' memories stung at him, whipped at him, in a way they had not in years.

Filius nodded, his usually genial face scrunched in sadness, his beard and cheeks wet with tracks of tears, and his smile nostalgic in his grief.

Harry said nothing, just turned and tread softly for the door. At the doorway, however, he turned back and looking at Filius with something of a wetness in his eyes, whispered softly,

"Thank you, Filius. Thank you." His voice was smooth and thick in his reverence and the twin feelings of melancholy and joy in his chest leap and coiled over each other as if they were thick, black snakes, each deadly and poisonous, each entwined about his heart.

It was strange, thought Harry, as he carried his treasure back to his room and his little enjoining study, how history repeated itself. He and his mother had chosen to do the exact same topic for their Mastery theses, entirely independently of each other. He opened the door and walked to his desk, laying the pile of parchment carefully down. His heart, however, skipped a beat, when he turned over the title page, to the dedication and read, _To Filius first, who without this would not be possible, and second to James ~ Audentes Fortuna Iuvat!~[1]. _

Harry leaned back into his chair, stretched out his legs, and flipped over the next sheet, completely engrossed.

Filius sat, rather moodily, in his armchair, staring at the very tips of his dragon hide boots. He took no interest in the unopened post that was clenched rather tidily in the talons of his golden eagle letter holder. He traced one finger down the engraving of paws on the arms of the chair and shook his head.

Heaving a sigh, he got up rather stiffly, his leg giving him unexpected difficulties in the warmth of the room. He trudged to his bookcase, ran a hand down the smooth leather spines, and pulled out one. It was navy blue, with the title embossed in gold. Ballads and Barrack Room Ballads by Rudyard Kipling, published before the turn of the century, Filius mused, and flipped open the upper cover.

He shut his eyes in regret at the smooth, flowing script and willfully turned the next few pages, until the first poem, and then he murmured softly to the open room, "_O__H,__ East is East, and West is West, and never the twain shall meet,_ / _Till Earth and Sky stand presently at God's great Judgment Seat;/_ _But there is neither East nor West, Border, nor Breed, nor Birth,_ / _When two strong men stand face to face, tho' they come from the ends of the earth![2]" _And when he spoke, he voiced it in harmony with cadences of ghosts of many a year past – Anna, Lily, Johannes…

He had outlived so many. So many…

Harry was feeling peckish, even as he read, entranced through his mother's dissertation. Grumbling regretfully, he set down the sheet of parchment, whistled a short burst of some tune happily, and quite nearly bounced through the room. He had discovered that his mum had been as brilliant as Filius and others had made her out to be. Funny too.

Harry opened the ice box, looking for some cuts of meat, and cheese. He sliced off some bread from a loaf he had made several days ago, and noted mentally that he needed to bake some more. Smearing the bread liberally with butter, he stacked several slabs of meat and cheese, and balanced another slice of bread on top. He took a bite, grinning rather madly around his mouthful, and waltzed through the kitchen, to the sound of 'Entranced by You', the newest hit by the Warbling Wizard Wonders floating forth from the Wireless.

Filius sat, staring as the shadows lengthened and darkened. The book sat open on his laps, pages half erect with stiffness, and his index finger sat in the trough between the two mountains of leaves.

His lips moved, but made no sound; his eyes saw only figments of the past.

Of 1867 and Johannes, Hogwarts, and the joys of friendship and seventh year.

Of 1878, what a magical year, meeting Anna, and later, married, waltzing happily, madly in 1932.

Lily, in 1979, the lovely music box she had given him for Christmas, Johannes and Anna both gone, and soon Lily too. Soon Lily too.

Silently, he cried.

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[1] – Audentes ( often Audaces) Fortuna Iuvat originally comes from the Aeneid of Vergil, Book 10, Line 284 and means 'Fortune favors the Bold'.

[2] – The first poem in Ballads and Barrack Room Ballads by Rudyard Kipling is "The Ballad of East and West". These are the opening four lines faithfully recorded.


	3. These Beams of Morning Play

Author Note: I'm sorry about the long update wait, but I'm pretty sure only about four people have read this story anyway. Or at least, only four people have reviewed. At any rate, I've read LOTR recently, so that may have affected my style, if only to improve it. By the way, I have this sudden image of Flitwick in my head as Ian Holm. Which is not canon, I suppose, but works for me. And also, this fic is now officially AU after the GOF, not OOTP. I couldn't come up with a clever way to resurrect Sirius. I am trying to increase my work on this story – so hopefully by February I'll have the next chapter out.

**These Beams of Morning Play**

Filius held the book gingerly but firmly as he set it down on the side table, heaving himself with a muffled groan out of his chair, moving lethargically towards the door. His fingers but brushed the wall hanging outside the door, and his lack of emotion weighed his body. Filius felt ancient, in a way only grief could make him, and he wondered how Albus had coped all these years.

When he passed Harry's room he knocked, then stuck his head around the door frame.

"Harry my boy," he called "Harry."

Hmm… No answer. Although – his nose perked up, something smelled good. He practically trotted to the kitchen, something more of his usual spring in his step.

Ah, delight. Freshly baked bread, and no Harry in sight. Bouncing forward, he reached out to seize a piece.

Only to have his hand wrenched away by that dratted apprentice of his. Nor would Filius admit that he almost pouted.

Harry looked sharply at his mentor, green eyes firm.

"Not now, Filius. That batch is for dinner."

"Harry –"

"Remember? You were having Professor McGonagall over this evening?"

That had certainly slipped his mind. Filius flipped open his watch.

"I had forgotten. Thank you for reminding me." He rested on hand on Harry's shoulder and shut his gold fob watch with a snap. "Nearly three already, lad! Dinner at seven – you must have some serious work to do. I'll just be trundling out of your way." Filius' eyes twinkled as he took his hand from Harry's shoulder, quickly snagged a crumb, and padded swiftly out the door.

"Filius!" Harry called, rolling his eyes. Honestly, Filius was over a century and a half too old to act as if he were a two year old. The lamb was slowly, succulently, cooking in the oven, and what for sides? Perhaps some fresh vegetables, and mashed young potatoes?

Harry rolled his fingers on the tabletop, contemplating dinner. Contemplating Filius. He had seemed abnormally chipper, covering up the tinge of sadness in his eyes and in furrows on his brow.

He swirled his finger in the flour on the table top, making random designs as he pondered.

It still scared him a little how much he actually cared about Filius. Of course he was living with the man in his house, learning from him in a one on one basis – but the idea of actually caring about Filius as if he were family – that was what scared him.

His own family had never even come close to how well Filius treated him, and for his own part, Harry found himself often not knowing how to respond to the gentle rebuke about the late hours he was keeping, or the soft chide of how much he wasn't eating.

Harry half grinned, eyes still thoughtful, with slow hands he waved his wand once, twice – scouring the counter and setting a timing charm for the lamb. Deep thinking would have to wait until dinner was prepared.

The potatoes chopped, and set to boiling, Harry set some fresh spring vegetables to drain, knowing it would be the work of a minute once Filius' guests to arrive to steam them.

Humming the newest wireless hit "Stand by Your Wizard", Harry prepared chocolate mousse, knowing Filius had a secret love of it. Whoever said that only woman adored chocolate had never met his mentor. Harry imagined Filius going into a shop for the express purpose of buying Honeydukes. Had chocolate even been discovered in Filius's childhood? Harry shook his head that was the sort of thing that Ron would know. He'd have to ask when they went out to the pub on Sunday night.

He removed his apron, throwing it over the back of a nearby chair. He walked to the dining room – and concentrating _accio_-ed the table cloth he would need for tonight's dinner. Will intent upon it – and a few flicks of his wand for good measure – Harry set about laying the table, sighing half in frustration, half nostalgia for Hermoine. She would know charm that could do this instantly – as well as get the blasted forks straight.

"Drat it – stay put!" Harry barked to the unruly napkins who were bunching themselves up with no apparent cause. Harry rolled his eyes and was tempted to owl Hermoine but he was too stubborn for that. With another hard flick of his wand and a sharp jab with his magic the napkins lay flat and the forks were quite upright and in their proper order.

Harry reached out, and smoothed a wrinkle from the table cloth. The fabric was smooth and cool beneath his fingers, and his green eyes darkened, remembering.

"_Harry-" Ginny called from their bedroom, twirling the long, flute-shaped skirt of her long evening gown._

"_Yes, beloved?" Harry said, absentmindedly, poking his wand at his tie, trying to get it to lie flat. She sauntered out, the creamy dress caressing her hourglass shaped figure. _

"_Oh do just come here." She said, laughing softly as she straightened it, running her cool fingers down the sides of his evening jacket. "The Chosen One who can't tie his own tie." She shook her head in reproach, and Harry watched, mesmerized at the strands of molten fire cascading about her lovely face. _

_Chuckling, he picked her up, dancing around their bedroom, large hands firmly placed around her tiny waist as she laughed helplessly above his head. "Harry! Harry! Put me down this instant." She cried, eyes snapping wickedly, and Harry gently put her down, leaning forward to steal a kiss from her blushing cheeks and her soft, gorgeous lips. _

_He felt the fabric under his fingers as he cradled her in his arms, fabric –so smooth and cool… Ginny called to him, half in reproach, half in laugher "We'll be late for the dinner…"_

"_We'll just be late then." He said, stroking the hair back from her face, and claiming a kiss again. Ginny just looked at him and Harry sighed. Gathering their evening cloaks from the closet, he draped it over his lady and his over his own shoulders. Affectionately, he claimed her hand, rings clinking as he clasped her slim fingers to his, and they walked out the door._

_Together. _

Harry blinked, rebellious eyes burning with tears as he remembered the silken feel of her dress, of her against him that night – waltzing beneath the stars. Professor Dumbledore's Christmas party – a last vestige of solidarity against Voldemort and they had danced the night away.

"Oh God, I…" Harry whispered, words forgotten as his heart was consumed in a maelstrom of emotion, fistful of fabric clenched tightly, silvery tears weighing down his eyes, wanting to weep at the pain of his memories. Straightening up, he roughly drove the tears from his emerald eyes with his thumb, and released the linen almost desperately.

Glancing back once over his shoulder, he made sure that all was well and headed back to the kitchen, heart pulsing in sorrow and anger, unaware that his magic was brushing against the walls even as he did so, and making a small hurricane whip around his robes.

Filius entered the kitchen to the somewhat awe-inspiring sight of flour circling around Harry in a tornado like effect. And he, all but oblivious.

"Harry my lad, what are you doing?" He asked carefully, trying not to snicker.

"Kneading the dough for our bread tomorrow." Harry panted in between kneads, and flicked his head towards the door. "Why, what's wrong?"

"I do believe that I may be flashing back to the Marauders…" Filius intoned solemnly, wishing that he could take a picture for posterity's sake. Then he flicked his wand, and the blurs of flour changed into Snitches flying around Harry's head. And he snorted once, and then tried to keep a straight face.

"Right." Harry said finally, turning around and remembering not to wipe his hands on his robe just in time. Then his eyes widened, tracking the innocent flour Snitches flurrying around his head in clumps. "Bloo-"

"Great snitches of flour. " Called a cheerful deep voice from the fireplace.

"Shut up, Ron." Harry said, reaching cautiously for his wand. Wait, Ron? Harry's head was turned in a flash of black, and he smirked. Waving his wand, the snitches circling him flew straight for the fireplace.

"Bollocks." Ron said, his head in the fireplace swaying every which way, trying to dodge the Snitches. Harry laughed, his head thrown back and wand held loosely as he watched the spectacle, and Filius himself was so overcome with glee he could barely cast the cleaning spell.

"Thanks Professor." Ron muttered, glaring at his so called best friend.

"You are very welcome, Mr. Weasley." Filius said graciously, quirking one white eyebrow.

"Why the floo call, Ron?" Harry inquired, mouth still set in a smirk, as he watched the amusement tinged with annoyance spiral over Ron's face. He was never really sure if he should laugh at Ron's beard, or try and dispel it and see if it was real. Then Ron's face turned serious, and he said, his voice low and somber

"Sorry, Professor – but could I have a word with Harry? In private?" Ron pleaded to Filius, something hard and dangerous lurking in his eyes.

"Of course, Ronald. I'll just step into the living room." Filius strode from the room, and Harry leaned towards Ron.

"Well, what's all this about?" Harry said quizzically, polishing his wand with a fold of his robe.

"Mate do you mind if I step through?" Ron gestured towards the kitchen.

"Go ahead." In a flash of green flame, Ron stepped into the kitchen, his lanky frame still taller than Harry's but not by much. He brushed the ash from his dark navy robes with large hands, and walked towards Harry.

"I just got back from treating Auror Lindsay at headquarters." Harry and Ron had both accepted the title of Reserve Auror once the war ended, and as a Healing was his main profession, Ron often was called to the Auror headquarters in case of emergencies. "You know, that bloke we both liked – went through training a few years back?" Harry nodded, yes, he remembered Lindsay, first name Robert – the stocky, dark haired wizard who had a sharp sense of humour and some strange ideas about muggles. "He got nicked by a Cutting Curse last night, but they managed to catch one of the bloody nutters involved in the Graveyard Scandals." Good riddance, Harry thought, as he rolled the matter over in his mind along with the dough. The Graveyard Scandals had started with some wizards defacing graveyards – pushing over headstones, cutting off memorials, and promptly escalated from there to mutilating the bodies of the dead, as well as commencing Dark Rituals in the plots and on top of the dead themselves.

"And why is this bad thing?" Harry asked reasonably, setting the dough in a bowl, then covering the bowl with a cloth and setting it by the oven to rise. He washed his hands, and gave a hard jab and sliding point towards the counter, along with a nonverbal _Scourgify_. The counter cleaned itself and he nodded in approval.

"That's not it mate," Ron said quite seriously, crossing his hands over his chest and staring at him with light blue eyes as hard as polished steel. "Those nutters that he was involved with – they aren't after the graveyards anymore or even the worse things – the playing around with dead bodies. They're after you." Harry was stunned, leaning against the counter as if he'd been pole-axed, and ran a trembling hand through his hair. 'They're after you' seemed to echo around in his brain without end. It was like Voldemort all over again.

Harry ground his teeth tightly together, he wanted to succumb under the injustice of it all, and suddenly felt very old. He was a veteran already of the Great War – he didn't want to be involved in it anymore.

"I – We already fought our war, Ron. Why can't it ever be over?" Harry asked wearily, staring at his best friend, knowing that there was no real answer to his question. Ron, for his own part, had nothing to say. Harry already knew the answer to his question, but Ron felt compelled by over a decade of friendship to say something. Anything to keep this dread silence from pressing in around them, and stealing all of the life – the brilliant crimson and gold fire of life from them.

"It will never be over." Ron said, for all of his lack of years sounding very wise and very sad also. "Not while evil still dwells in mankind's hearts and kith slay kin and the lust for power overwhelms anything else. It will never be over, Harry, not for us. We may have fought the Great War – but this lesser one is still to be fought. And we will fight it, you and I. Together." Ron sounded like the leader he had become when he put his hand firmly on Harry's shoulder, willing the desire for justice and good to overcome his friend, his brother's apathy. Harry looked up, emerald eyes suddenly firm with resolve, and grasped Ron's bicep.

"Together." The one word seemed to echo in the room long after it had died away, and Ron knew just as Harry knew that they would fight this coming war together, come what may.

Because that's what brothers do.


End file.
